


Bake Me a Cake as Fast as You Can

by Janatee



Series: Whouffle [7]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janatee/pseuds/Janatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“’Ack!’ he cried, ‘This is my favourite vest.’ He wiped his cake-covered hands on her sleeve, leaving spongy residue. ‘How do you like getting slimed?’<br/>‘Hey!’ she cried, grinning, ‘If it’s a fight you’re looking for, you’re in way over your head.’”</p><p>Clara prepares to celebrate Artie’s birthday, nervously trying her best to make it the perfect. The Doctor tries to help, but accidentally blows up the cake. Tension quickly deflates into silliness, and a food fight ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bake Me a Cake as Fast as You Can

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Whouffle Week's "Baking" prompt, and was originally posted on star-spangled-souffle.tumblr.com

“You are not using the sonic,” Clara said.  
“Why not?”

 

“This needs to be perfect,” she said, crossing her arms, “Your fancy high-tech shortcuts end up getting us worse off than we started. This is Artie’s birthday. We’re making a boring vanilla cake, and we’re doing it the old-fashioned way.”

 

The Doctor looked like he was about to retort, but she put on her serious face, and he let it be.  

_______

 

Clara chattered nervously, carefully measuring ingredients into a red mixing bowl. “Artie’s had a really bad go of it this year, and I want to make sure his birthday is perfect to make up for it all. Give him hope, you know? Sugar?”

 

The Doctor wordlessly passed her the sugar. She poured some into a measuring cup, talking all the while.

 

“And his mum’s not around to celebrate, so I’ve got to do it instead. I just can’t let him-it’s two cups, right?”

 

The Doctor leaned over to check the recipe book and nodded.

 

“I just can’t let him be deprived of a proper adolescence. It’s not fair.” She looked at the bowl. “This should be right. Help me pour the batter.”

 

_______

 

The Doctor had no idea how to help her, but he let her hash out her feelings as she talked; he could listen, at least. After a long bout of waiting, the cake was done. Clara, of course, had shooed him away as soon as it was time for the delicate work of icing. He’d even kept from rolling his eyes when she said to wait half an hour for the icing to dry before starting the second later. (Second layer? How much time was she planning on putting into this thing?) At this rate, they’d be here all day, and she had a party to plan. Surely he could lend a hand.

 

He turned around. Clara was hunched over the sink, scrubbing dishes as she talked. He took the sonic out of his pocket, and blocked the cake from her view. Now was the perfect time.

“And I thought we’d just make it a family party, not worry about the kids from school. That’s a good plan, right? Makes things simpler, and I’m not about to-”

 

_SPLAT!_

 

She spun around. “Doctor!” she shouted. Bits of cake had exploded across the counter.

 

“What did you do?!” she cried.

 

_Oh no oh no oh no, it was ruined. She’d failed; all her planning would go to-_

 

Just then, the Doctor turned around, and she saw his face.

 

 

He looked, frankly, ridiculous. His entire face was covered in bits of soggy cake. His eyes were wide open, eyelashes coated in green. He opened his mouth to apologize, and had to spit out a bit of icing.

 

“Clara,” he said, “I’m so sorry, I was trying to help.”

 

Clara sat stunned for a second, then burst out laughing.

 

 

 

“Oh my stars,” she said, through fits of giggles, “Your face is totally white! You look like frosty the snowman with green eyelashes.” She felt the tension leave her as she laughed, and she thought she saw the Doctor relax his shoulders.

 

“How much of the cake is even left?” she said, walking toward him. As she leaned over the counter to look at the remains, the Doctor wiped his icing-coated sonic on her apron.

 

“Doctor!” she shrieked. She grabbed a handful of cake and threw it at him playfully. The blob hit him square in the chest.

 

“Ack!” he cried, “This is my favourite vest.” He wiped his cake-covered hands on her sleeve, leaving spongy residue. “How do you like getting slimed?”

 

“Hey!” she cried, grinning, “If it’s a fight you’re looking for, you’re in way over your head.”

 

 

 

It was an all out food fight. Their hair was coated in icing, cake mashed into their clothes and faces. Once they ran out of cake, the Doctor grabbed the eggs carton, throwing eggs at her as she tried in vain to swat them away.

 

“Alright, you got me!” she shouted, “Truce?”

 

“Never!” he said, pelting her with more eggs, “Only surrender.”

 

 “Fine,” she said, and he stopped with the eggs. “I’ll surrender…when pigs fly!” She grabbed a jug of milk and splashed it down his front. As he scrambled for something to defend himself, she dumped flour over his head. He flung the rest of the eggs at her, wiped the mess from his eyes, and twisted the cap off a creamer carton, emptying it over her head.

 

 

 

Artie chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the chaos inside. Eggs dripped down the walls, flour coated the counter and floor, and the two giggling figuress were barely recognizable under layers of powder and dough.

 

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

 

“Artie, come with me” said Clara, laughing, “We’re getting you a cake from the store.”


End file.
